“Here stop a bit,” the chairman interrupted. “You’re getting on a bit too fast. What did you let him write for the Social Standard for? Was he a comrade, I.L.P., or S.D.F., or Fabian p’raps? He seems to be rather a high sort from what you say.”
“A comrade! Tits, man! ma pairsonal opeenion is that he was nothing bit a . . . Tory spy. I always thought he was a Jesuit in disguise and now of course I know it. Fhen I knew him first he was pals with the traitor Dymoke——”
“Dymoke!!!” Teeth gritted; and the social equivalent for the Roman “Anathema sit” was snarled.
“Comrades, it wasn’t me that was to blame there you know. Wait a minute before we meaninglessly divide oursels. I have some most important developments to lay before the meeting as you’ll all cordially endorse. Don’t someone remember I was the one that stopped the traitor’s letters and give information of his treachery? If it hadna have been for me he would have bought the bally show with his Tory gold. It was me as put my spoke in his wheel and got him expelled in time. Well, as I was remarking, fhen I knew Rose he was gey thick with Dymoke. Fhat for did I let him write for us? Wy, because he could write the verra blusterous epithets which ’ld make the enemy wince. Of course I went over all that he wrote though, just to see that he was economically correct. If I hadna have done that I might just as well have shut up shop. But I was going to say, comrades, there’s a lady-friend of mine he’s treated shameful—made love to her while her man was alive, borrowed twenty-pound notes of her, had to be forbid the hoose, and then fhen she was left a widdy-wumman with a family he cuts her dead at a picture-gallery. That’s fhat I mean by ungrateful, the swine, fit to make a man retch with his mumping cant. What I was about to observe—no, she’s not a Fellowshipper yet. I met her in the way of business if you know what I mean: but I expect she’ll join before long. I know she will if I can only bring off fhat I’m talking about. She’s got a pension, and she takes paying guests, quite high-toned and all. That’s how I got to know her. I’ve put up there fhen I’ve come down to London these five year. Well, the moment I first come ben her best parlour I spots his photo on the cheffonier. ‘Hech,’ says I, ‘I know that chap.’ ‘Then you know a very mauvy soojy,’ says she, for she knows the French fine, and a’ thing as genteel as you can think. So we had a bit crack; and fhat with fhat she told me and fhat I knew aboot him before, I may inform you that if we want to get anything out of him now I’m the man that can secure his entire acquiescence to any proposal we like to submit to him. Here’s my plan, comrades, and if anyone’s got a better let him out with it or else for ever after hold his peace and stand out of the way of them that has. Comrades, the hour has struck when tyranny will be no more for I’ve got the tyrant between ma legs and A’m going to squeeze him off my own bat, supposing as I’m properly supported. Cautious though, very cautious we must be: for Rose fhen I knew him was fine and slippery. Artful? E-e-e-e-e-eh! Dinna ye talk about his artfulness! Aye and proud too! He was the most haughty don’t care sort of chap ye can think. I mind his eyes were like lowin’ coals somewhens. You shouldn’t nail him anyhow. Insolence I call it; and I’d have pulled his nose for him many times only he wasn’t worth it. Starving I’ve known him: yet if you’ll believe me he’d give himsel’ a wash and a brush up and go out of an afternoon looking as smart as you please in his old clothes and with a fag always in his mouth like the masher he is. That fag! I’ll let ye know it was aye the same fag. He hadna used to light it ever. He lit it once and put it out directly after; and then he used to stick it in his face every afternoon and shew himself as usual, so that no one should know he hadna had a bit fhite fish, na naething to ca’ a moothfu’ o’ flesher’s meat wi’ his piece week past. He telled it me himsel’ when I got to know him. And now, comrades, there’s that feller sitting on the seven hills of Rome with three gold crowns on his head, as has been put in the papers, damning us for all he’s worth. Comrades, fhat I wish to call the attention of this meeting to this evening is—I’ll just speir if ye think that Rose should like to have his past life gave away by me and my lady-friend? Mrs. Crowe, her name is.”
Jerry paused for a reply; and realized that he had possession of the meeting’s ear: He mopped the lumps on his forehead: helped himself out of the chairman’s whiskey-bottle: gulped a dram; and continued. His assumption of the rhetorical manner was consciously enormous now. “Comrades, as in the east when the golden light of dawn shews that sunrise is about to come, so this poor feeble voice of mine shews that the tyrant’s thrones are tottering to their overthrow. But, comrades, we maun beware. Snares beset our path. Once we have let oursel’s be caught by his infernal Jesuitical machinations and he has scornfully crrrushed us to the earth. This is how Labor is treated, and thus shall Labor be treated as long as we go cap in hand and ask for our rights instead of demanding them and taking them as Comrade Matchwood says in the Salpinx. Comrades, this time we maun conquer or expire. If we want the former, we must fight our enemy with his own tools. Fhat are his tools? Comrades, his tools are Jesuitical Tory tools. His emissaries are everywhere, his spies beset our path on every hand I should say infest our road. Even in this hall to-night, a Tory eye may be upon us, a Jesuitical ear may be protruded to catch these whispers falling from this feeble tongue and pass them on to that arch-pariah in Rome who is drunk with the blood of working-men and battened on unearned increment. Comrades, we maun take a leaf out of his book: we maun hoist him up on his own Jesuitical petard. We oursels maun become Jesuitical for the sake of the Cause. Comrades, there in Rome sits the Abominable Desolation and I’ll let ye know ye’ll find him fhat ye may call a fikey customer. Day by day his satellites prostrate their forms before his so-called holy toe, and let him know a’ things which they’ve found out by base and underhand sneaking means. That is whit way he is so powerful. His slaves tell him so much that he knows everything. Look fhat with an entire lack of consistency he said about the Salpinx. Could he have said that if he hadna been informed? No, I repeat, a thousand times no. Comrades we maun do the same. He knows our secrets and uses them against us most unfair. We maun worm his out too, and use them to bend his proud knee to the people’s will. Comrades, I, me, know his secrets. I am the man and Mrs. Crowe is the woman fhat shall shame him before all his silken harems and cardinals and potentates—upset his apple-cart if I may use a colloquious impression. We only have got to show the despot our two faces, and I’ll let ye know he’ll quail as sure’s death. We shan’t need say a word. At the mere sight of me and my lady-friend the monster’ll howl for mercy. Then we will be able to have our revenge for his recent most insulting remarks. We will dictate fhat he shall have to do to win our favour. All the starch and haughtiness shall go out of him like steam out of a toddy-jug when he sees us two; and he shall pay any price to gain our smile. And then I’ll let you know what my plans are. Comrades, we’re agreed aren’t we that the only way in which the Cause can triumph over Capital is by having a Labor majority in the House of Commons. Fhat I mean by that is this. At that magnificent demonstration of Labor’s irresistible electoral might, in the words of the Salpinx, we can make the Tories and our friends the Liberals pass our bills to pay us our proper salaries; and we will wrestle from the reluctant rich the mines and the railways and the mills and all the paying industries, and we shall even nationalize the land itself which our bloated aristocracy have robbed us of and mafficked in and wallowed in our gore. Comrades, I shall not detain you much longer for I see the hour is getting on. Fhat I mean to say is this is the point. There are, in this Great Britain and Ireland of ours the night, no less than 8,452,637 deluded papists with parliamentary votes. I obtained those figures carefully from statistics. You have to be careful about details like this if you mean to do yersel’ any good at a’. Now, Comrades, all those 8,452,637 papists shall gladly drop their 8,452,637 votes into candidates’ ballot boxes which will be put forward by the Liblab Fellowship. They shall do it at one word from their Pope, at one pen-stroke of his, such is the besotted state of slavery i
n which they exist. Refuse they dare not, or they should languish in the horrors of the Spanish Inquisition or light the Fires of Smithfield and the Massacres of the so-called Saint Bartholomew. Comrades, it is that one word and penstroke which the sight of me and Mrs. Crowe shall squeeze out of their haughty Pope. We’d better have a proper deputation to go to wait on him with us for safety’s sake; and happen we’d better have a sort of address to present, explaining how matters stand, just to make things look pleasant and polite as it were. That’s only a matter of form though. The main thing’ll be to see him fall back toes over tip on his judgment-seat like him as was struck with worms when he sees who’s in the deputation. Laugh? I won’t ever have laughed like I will laugh at him then! Well now, comrades, I’ve said my say and I say no more leaving the matter to your esteemed consideration. Comrades, think of all the insults which he and his myrmidons has made us groan under so long. Revenge is now at your disposal. This weak hand of mine has pointed out whit way. Seize it, oh seize it in the name of Freedom is all I ask. For myself I ask nothing, not a penny if you was to offer it me. Comrades, I’m fighting for the Cause. For the Cause I’d give my life as far as in me lies. That’s my aim: that’s my game, as the poet, remarks. Comrades I shall not detain you longer I shall now sit down.” And the raucous gentleman panted into the next Fellowshipper’s chair.
CHAPTER XI
“Dear Mrs. Crowe,
Secret and Confidential.
Please burn it when you have concluded reading.
Referring to our numerous enjoyable conversations on the subject of Socialism in which you have evinced entire acquiescence, I am directed by the Council of the Liblab Fellowship to call your attention to the advantages obtainable from comradeship as per enclosed. The entrance fee is two and six and the subscription five shillings per ann. payable in June and Dec. I may add that those are special terms which I have exerted my influence to obtain in your favour and I trust I shall meet with your esteemed approval. Would you decide to join, kindly notify me of the same per wire for wh. I enclose six stamps. Yes or No will answer all purposes, but personally I feel sure that it shall be yes. On receipt of your anticipated favour will at once propose and have you seconded at our evening meeting to take place on the night of the same day when you get this letter. Should your reply be in the affirmative I am to let you know that you shall at once be nominated as a member of a deputation, which I have the honour to be a member of as well, which is about to proceed to Rome for the purpose of diplomatically interviewing our mutual friend the Pope. The expenses of the trip will be borne by the Liblab funds so there is no need to worry on that score. You are aware that travel especially to such a famous town as Rome is considered advantageous in every respect. The Italian sky the numerous old ancient edifices and the Romans themselves in their native monasteries cannot fail to amuse the eye of the beholder. The excursion is entirely gratis and so that difficulty is removed. But in addition to what I have said there is also the prospect of renewing our acquaintance with his so-called ‘Holiness’!!!!! And I may say for certain of having private interviews with him in the innermost recesses of his haunts. More I shall not now add. The mission of the deputation is strictly diplomatic and connected with political affairs, and I am of course not at liberty to divulge the details to anyone but fellowshippers, it would be hardly prudent. Ah would that you dear Mrs. Crowe was one. But I may without any breach of confidence inform you in the strictest confidence that Rose alias Hadrian is in our power and therefore putting politics out of the question it shall go hard if you and me cannot do a little private business with him on our own account. Hoping to hear from you soon as per enclosed blank form and thanking you in anticipation
I remain
Yours truly in the Cause (I hope)
Jeremiah Sant.
P.S. Now burn this without fail.”
Sant’s lady-friend sat at the breakfast table, pondering this letter while her kidney grew cold. The four lodgers were gone to business; and she was alone except for the presence of her son. He was one of those beautiful speechless cow-eyed youths who seem born to serve as butts. Most people exercise some influence, assert some personal note. Alaric Crowe did neither. A course of female rule had produced him with about as much individuality as a cushion. He ate his breakfast in delicate silence. His mother was wrapt in thought. She found Sant’s letter delectable. The consuming passion of her whole life was for George Arthur Rose. Next to him, she desired fame, notoriety, as a leader in suburban literary and artistic “circles.” By perseverance, an undeniable amount of clever organizing power, a certain stock of third or fourth class talent, and any quantity of “push,” she had established a sort of salon where little lions hebdomadally roared. But she never had won the faintest regard from the man for whom she burned. The violence of her passion had caused her to make an irremediable mistake with him. She had not realized the feline temper which had caused him to repel advances as obvious as abrupt and as shameless as a dog’s. He had ceased to be aware of her existence. Then she had blundered further. Still ignorant of his peculiarity, she had treated him as the female animal treats the male of her desire. Finding him unapproachable by blandishments, she had turned to persecution. She would make him come to her and beg. Here, she also failed. In vain did she defame him to her followers: in vain did she libel him to the publishers from whom he earned his scanty subsistence: in vain did she force herself upon his few friends with stories of his evil deeds. He let those who listened to her leave him. He tolerated the ill-will or stupidity of Barabbas. He never said a word in his own defence. And he kept her severely and entirely at a distance, giving no sign that he even knew of her manœuvres. It was galling to the last degree. Of course he was egregiously wrong. “Neither in woes nor in welcome prosperity, may I be associated with women: for, when they prevail, one cannot tolerate their audacity; and, when they are frightened, they are a still greater mischief to their house and their city.” His feeling to women was that of Eteokles in the Seven against Thebes. It caused him to make the tremendous mistake of his life. A woman of this colour never can be neglected: she must be taken—or smashed. That, he knew: but he would not take her, ever; and, a certain chivalrous delicacy, mingled with a certain mercifulness of heart, and a certain fastidious shrinking from a loathsome object, prevented him from prosecuting her with the rigour of the law. “Wrong must thou do, or wrong must suffer. Then, grant, O blind dumb gods, that we, rather the sufferers than the doers be,” expressed his attitude. It annoyed himself: it made her fierce and furibund: and it was absolutely futile.—And now, he had leaped at a bound from impotent lonely penury to the terrible altitude of Peter’s Throne. He was famous, mighty, rich, and the idol of her adoration, despite the great gulph fixed between her insignificance and His Supremacy. Oh, what would she not give—for a curse, for a blow from Him. The emotion thrilled and dazzled her. Not one hour during twelve years had she been without the thought of Him. It was a case of complete obcession.
Her daughter flowed into the room in a pink wrapper, finishing a florid cadenza. A touch on the tea-pot and a glance under the dish-cover revealed astringent and coagulate tepidity. She rang the bell.
“Mother, why aren’t you eating any breakfast?”
“I am eating it. I only just stopped a minute to read my letters.”
“A pretty long minute, I should think. Everything’s stone-cold. Why you’ve only got one letter! Who’s it from?”
“Mr. Sant. He wants me to go to Rome with him.”
“Oh mother, you can’t you know.”
“I’m sure I don’t know anything of the kind. In fact I think I will go. There’ll be a party of us.”
“Well, if it’s a party—— But what’s going to become of the house?”
“I’m sure Big Ann is capable of looking after the house, Amelia. If I can’t have a fortnight’s holiday now and then I might just as well go and drown myself. I’m sick to death of Oriel Street. I want to go about a bit. Yes, I will go.
And the house must get on the best way it can. Anybody would think you were all a pack of machines that wouldn’t work if I’m not here to wind you up.”
“Oh, all right, mother, go and have a fling by all means if you like. But what about the cost? I’m sure I can’t help you as long as I only get these three-guinea engagements. And I simply can’t wear that eau-de-nil again. The bodice is quite gone under the arms.”
“You’re not asked to help. Mr. Sant pays all expenses. And, Amelia, if I can do what I’m going to try to do, you shall have as many new frocks as you can wear. We’re going to see the Pope.”
“Going to see the Pope?”
“Yes, you silly girl—the Pope,—Rose!”
“What do you mean?”
“Just what I say.”
“But you can’t.”
“Nonsense. Of course I can.”
“Well I mean of course you can see Him the same as other people do: but you’ll be in the crowd, and He—— I can’t understand you at all this morning. Let’s look at Sant’s letter—— How vilely the man writes! Like a—— You don’t mean to say you’ll join these people? M-ym-ym. Yes, I see the game.—Yes.—But d’you think you really could?—Well: if you like the idea still, it’s worth trying anyhow.—Silly little mother! Why I believe you’re in love with Rose even now. Ah, you’re blushing. Mother, you look a dear like that!”
“Amelia, don’t be stupid. Mind your own business.”
“Oh I’m not going to interfere. You needn’t be jealous of me. I’m sure I never saw anything particular in Him myself.” They spoke as though they were alone. Alaric went quite unnoted. He folded his napkin and rose from the table.
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